


Choke on the Memories

by galacticfieldtrip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Landsmeet, F/M, Post-Landsmeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticfieldtrip/pseuds/galacticfieldtrip
Summary: It was only once the sun had fully set, leaving the two of them in comfortable darkness that she finally spoke again.“It doesn’t feel like it, but I know I did the right thing.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I finally started playing Origins, got to the Landsmeet and ended up having a lot of Feelings. I was especially annoyed that there's no companion conversations about your decisions, so I made up my own.

The stone walls were suffocating her.

Granted, they were nothing so horrible as the weeks upon weeks spent beneath the surface, in Orzammar, in the Deep Roads with tons of unliving and unforgiving stone overhead. But after the events of that day, Lyna suspected that anything but the enclosing arms of the forest would feel claustrophobic.

So, it was with her chest tightening that she found herself on the roof of the Arl’s estate, desperately trying to get enough air into her aching lungs. The world spun around her, and she _couldn’t breathe._ Everything was too loud, too crowded, too _much_ , and how much would she have to lose before the creators were satisfied? Was it not enough to lose her parents, then Tamlen, her clan, her home, Duncan, and then Tamlen once more? Must she lose Alistair as well?

~:~

“ _S_ _o that’s it then?” she asks, incredulous. “Either I kill him, or you leave?”_

_His eyes are so foreignly flinty, no trace of their characteristic warmth as he hisses in reply, “Loghain must answer for his crimes, and I’ll not serve with him.”_

_She can feel her anger cresting like the waves of the ocean Zevran has told her stories of. “Alistair, you can’t just stop being a Warden! How often have you said the same to me?”_

_“Watch me.” It’s said so petulantly that in any other situation, at any other time, she’d have teased him for it, and s_ _he is sure, in that moment, that Fen’Harel is laughing at her. Oh, how the tables have turned, that she is the one defending the traditions of the Wardens._

_There is a coldness rising in her, one that she’d nearly forgotten in the past year. The calculating need to make certain that all would turn out in their favor, no matter the cost. It had been Alistair most of all who had helped turn her away from that path; she supposes it’s only fitting that he be the one to necessitate its use once more. She had felt its edges as she negotiated the betrothal between Anora and Alistair, but now . . ._

_She straightens, shoves away Lyna Mahariel, Alistair’s friend, and brings to the fore the Warden, the woman who will do whatever it takes to win. And with all of her and Wynne's conversations about sacrifice ringing in her mind, she finally speaks, addressing the Landsmeet as much as her erstwhile friend._

_“May I assume, at least, that you will hold to your engagement to Anora?” There is a sweeping murmur in the crowd at this news, and Alistair glares at her, while the woman in question appraises her with something bordering on respect. He cannot back out now, and everyone knows it._

_“I will marry Anora, and I will take the throne.”_

_The iciness is still off-putting, but she refuses to let it burn her as she nods, apparently satisfied, and says, “Then I welcome Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir into the Grey Wardens.”_

~:~

Distantly, Lyna was aware that if an attacker were to appear, she would almost certainly die, given the state she was in. Her hyperventilating had reached new levels, and no matter what she tried, she could not block out the surging memories. Her mental control slipped -- _Alistair had taught her that_ \--, the clamoring of the darkspawn filled her mind, and for a terrible moment, she thought that she would surely go mad.

A warm arm slipped around her waist, and had she been in control of herself she likely would have shivved him purely out of surprise, but as it was, she was grateful for his company. She was still paralyzed, so she couldn’t see him, but she could hear him, nonsense Fereldan and Antivan words slipping out of him, absurdly comforting amidst the din of her mind.

Slowly, over the next few minutes she came back to herself, enough to be embarrassed about her display. She shifted as if to move away and he tutted. “Come now, my dear Warden, surely you do not wish to be alone?” Beneath the usual jovial tone, there was a very real undercurrent of concern. Lyna wondered if he even noticed it.

“Zev,” she sighed. “I . . . I don’t . . .” Groaning, she put her head in her hands. Dimly she was aware of his fingers running through her hair. Always so tactile, that was Zevran.

She tried again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Nonsense, _dolcezza_. You have had a rather trying day, no?” A slight smile quirked her lips at his talent for understatement.

Lifting her head from her hands, she took a proper look at the man next to her. He was worn, she realized. He hid it well, to be sure, but there was no mistaking the shadows around his eyes, the unusual paleness of his skin, the slump to his shoulders. And yet, here he was. Releasing another sigh, she pressed back against him, head on his shoulder, soaking in his warmth, and for a while, they said nothing.

~:~

 _The blood in the goblet is an unnatural black, more viscous than human or elven blood, and she gives an involuntary shudder as she recalls her own Joining; pain beyond measure, darkness, the visions . . . Alistair had said that joining the Wardens was an honor, not a punishment, but Lyna isn’t so sure. She watches carefully as Riordan mixes the darkspawn blood with the archdemon’s, listens as he narrates the process, understanding that she will need to know this._ _She is the last Fereldan Warden. If she survives, she will be responsible for increasing their ranks, for training the newcomers. Starting, perhaps, with the man in front of her._

_Loghain is quiet and unreadable. Unsettling. And not for the first time, Lyna wonders if she has truly made the correct decision, if losing Alistair's friendship was worth gaining this traitor._

_As Loghain raises the cup to his lips, she doesn’t know whether to wish for his death or his survival. She doesn’t know which would be worse. She watches dispassionately as his grip on the cup loosens as he is wracked with pain. Riordan deftly takes it off his hands before it spills, and together, they wait through the seizures of agony, through the visions that he is no doubt witnessing. He doesn’t make a sound through it all, and Lyna feels a grudging respect taking root, much as she might wish otherwise._

_Finally, he goes still, so still that neither of the two Wardens are sure he is alive._

_And then, Loghain Mac Tir takes a deep, rattling breath and opens his eyes._

~:~

It was only once the sun had fully set, leaving the two of them in comfortable darkness that she finally spoke again.

“It doesn’t feel like it, but I know I did the right thing.” The confession slipped out and hung in the silence. Beside her, Zevran stirred, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak before continuing, angrily. “The Ferelden people need Alistair’s blood on the throne, and they need a ruler like Anora. Their marriage was the obvious solution. And Loghain _will_ be useful, given his survival; his execution would have benefitted nobody.” Realizing she’d started to raise her voice, she cut herself off.

“You did only what was needed, _cara_. And if Alistair cannot see that, then he is more the fool for it.” Zevran’s tone was uncharacteristically solemn, and Lyna was glad for it; she wasn’t sure that she’d have been able to deal with a joke at the moment. “We all must sacrifice. You have given much, so perhaps it was time for him to do the same, no?”

Memories flitted across Lyna’s vision before she could stop them: _Alistair’s devastation at Duncan’s death, the pain and cracks in his voice whenever it comes up in conversation, the defeat in him when he speaks of his family._

“He has given much as well,” she said, quietly.

“But to be a Warden is give all, is it not?”

“Been listening to Wynne, have you?” He gave a small snort, but didn’t deny it. “You’re not wrong, though. In a way, I guess we aren’t so different from the Legion of the Dead. Might as well hold a funeral for us before the Joining, whether or not we survive,” she finished, with just a touch of bitterness.

“You are not dead yet, _amore_.”

Lyna ignored this. “Being a Warden is a death sentence, you know. If Alistair is to be believed, I’ll be dead before I reach fifty.” She hesitated. “Assuming we even survive this Blight, of course.”

“Well,” Zevran said, and Lyna knew, just _knew_ that she would be rolling her eyes at what he was about to say. “If we do die, at the very least you should be comforted to know that we will leave behind beautiful corpses, yes?” He turned his customary sunny grin on her, and she couldn’t help but smile back, shaking her head.

“You’re absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

“It has been mentioned before, I think.” He resumed his stroking of her hair, and she slipped into memory once more.

~:~

_She finds him in the solarium later, brooding and staring out the windows. She pauses in the doorway; it would be so easy to leave, and he would be none the wiser._

_But no, she was not raised to be a coward. She deliberately amplifies her footsteps and watches as his frame stiffens, but pushes onward until she stands beside him. There’s an uncomfortable distance between them that hasn’t existed since they first met, and she aches to close the distance between her and the man she had once called her best friend. She wants to apologize so badly, but the words stick in her throat, and what comes out instead is: “Loghain has survived.”_

_His lips pull up into a slight snarl. “More’s the pity, then.”_

_“Alistair.” He still does not face her, and her anger rises. “Alistair, stop being a child and_ look at me _.”_

_He does, mechanically, and she nearly takes a step back at his expression. A mask of stiffness and angry lines mars his features, and now she realizes: this is not the boy she befriended. She grits her teeth, clenches her jaw, and stuffs away her emotions yet again. She came to speak, and speak she will. “I’ll not apologize for what I’ve done; I stand by my decision. I am sorry, however, that it turned out this way.” He stays silent, and it’s so unlike the Alistair she knew that she simply continues speaking to fill the void. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done -- gods know I wouldn’t. But I want you to know that . . . that . . .” She stutters to a halt and curses herself in Elvhen. As she turns to leave, however, a hand catches her arm, and she turns to him again._

_His face is just a bit softer and his voice gentler as he says, “Good luck, Lyna.” He releases her arm and adds, “You’ll need it, with . . . with_ him _.”_

 _“_ Dareth shiral _, Alistair.” She doesn’t look back as she leaves._

~:~

Predictably, Lyna was broken out of her reverie by Zevran. “You know,” he said, “It’s getting rather chilly out here. Perhaps we should go inside -- I hear you have a _very_ comfortable bed, and I am simply dying to try it out.”

She wasn’t quite ready to face stone walls again. “Stay, _da’mi_?” she asked. “For just a bit longer?”

Smiling crookedly at her, he said, “For you, _amore_ , anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this is rough. I'll probably be back to edit this later and write in an actual, you know, ending.  
> A couple things: I don't ever record my playthroughs and I was too lazy to look for transcripts, so all the conversations between my Warden and Alistair are loosely adapted from memory. Second, I know fuck-all about Italian, so if any of y'all wanna correct poor Zev's endearments, please do.  
> ...speaking of my dumb elf son, how do you guys write his voice so well? Writers, tell me your secrets.


End file.
